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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574292">We Can Find a Place to Feel Good</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright'>yeah_alright</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1960s AU, 8th grade Harry through senior in high school Harry, Allusions to period typical homophobia, American AU, First Kiss, First Love, High School AU, M/M, School Dances, Song: Treat People With Kindness, all just mentioned or very minor, and OFC/OMC, and so hide their relationship, anne twist - Freeform, no direct instances but the boys are aware of and nervous about being out, steve aoki - Freeform, until they don't have to anymore in at least one place</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:21:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>14-year-old Harry is ecstatic to finally be old enough to experience the time-honored tradition of school dances. But with each year that passes and each dance he attends, he’s realizing they’re not all he used to hope they’d be. Especially when he can't actually dance with the person he most wants to. </p><p>Maybe he and Louis can figure out their own ways to keep dancing, anyway.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fine Line Fic Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Can Find a Place to Feel Good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was inspired by the song "Treat People With Kindness" and was written for the <a href="https://finelineficfest.tumblr.com//">Fine Line Fic Fest</a>. Make sure you check out all the other great fics in the collection which can be found <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FineLineFicFest//">here</a>!</p><p>Thank you, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femstyles/pseuds/Femstyles">Kylee</a>, for the quick beta! I gave you no notice or time and you were so helpful. &lt;3 All remaining mistakes are mine alone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> April 1965: Eighth Grade Dance </em>
</p><p><b>“I </b>can’t believe we’re finally at a dance!”</p><p>Harry knows his giddiness is obvious and extremely uncool, but he’s too excited to be embarrassed about it. Ever since starting junior high (nearly three whole years ago!) he’s been waiting for this. The Eighth Grade Dance. The only real chance before high school to experience the rite of passage Harry’s been looking forward to since he knew how to look forward to things. </p><p>Neither Stewart nor Jim replies, either too nervous or trying too hard to play it cool. Harry isn’t bothered. He’s practically fizzing just at being here.</p><p>It doesn’t matter that there’s no dancing to speak of at this dance. There’s barely any movement at all, not even just to mingle like the students of Merrill Middle School would be doing at any school function that didn’t offer the potential for touching (and unlikely but technically possibly also kissing) members of the opposite sex. So far, all there is at this dance are clumps of teenagers, awkwardly observing each other. Boys are on one side of the gymnasium and girls are on the other, parted like the Red Sea and barely even speaking to the people they’ve come with, too intimidated by the wide expanse between them. Too distracted by thoughts of what would need to happen to fill in the space. </p><p>Looking around, Harry thinks he might be one of the only kids who’s not at least a little terrified. Maybe it’s that he just doesn’t care about dancing with any particular girl. He hasn’t got a crush on anyone right now, so there’s no one he’s hoping to ask to dance. He doesn’t need to psych himself up for anything or steel himself for potential rejection. </p><p>Harry’s just happy to be here, dressed in the first suit he’d ever been allowed to pick out himself. He fiddles excitedly with his tie – a white and light green (barely darker than key lime pie) checkered pattern that matches his pocket square exactly – as he surveys his surroundings. </p><p>Long thin tables stretch along either side of the gymnasium, draped with thin paper tablecloths in the same pastel colors as the streamers and balloons that hang somewhat haphazardly (though Harry would never say that to whomever was in charge of decorations) throughout the space. Cupcakes and cookies, and cheese and crackers, and veggies and dip fill the tables, lined up just so. And most importantly, Harry thinks, evenly spaced out among the snacks are huge punch bowls of bright pink punch with lemon slices floating gently on top. </p><p>It’s just how he pictured it. </p><p>Except for the part where no one’s dancing. But hopefully that will happen eventually. </p><p>“Come on,” he says to his friends. “Let’s get some punch.”</p><p>*</p><p>After his mom drops Jim and Stewart off at their houses, she turns to Harry from the driver’s seat. “So, how was it, sweetie? As wonderful as you hoped?”</p><p>Harry furrows his brow and pinches his bottom lip as he searches for the right words. Finally, he nods and tells her, “It was good.”</p><p>“Just good?”</p><p>“It wasn’t exactly what I expected, I guess. But, even though there was hardly any dancing, I think it was still good practice for the real dances we’ll have in high school. When everyone’s grown up and less nervous about everything.”</p><p>His mother smiles in the way that makes Harry think she’d rather laugh, if she weren’t busy concentrating on driving. “Did <em> you </em>dance with anyone?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh? That’s a little bit of a surprise. You seemed so excited, honey. I thought you would have.”</p><p>Harry shrugs. “I dunno.”</p><p>“Was <em> no </em>one else dancing? I remember when I was young, it often took quite a lot for anyone to be brave enough to actually ask anyone else. It can be quite scary, asking someone to dance, can’t it?”</p><p>“That wasn’t it, really,” Harry replies thoughtfully. “I wasn’t scared. I could have asked someone.”</p><p>“Mmm? But you didn’t want to?”</p><p>“Might have been fun, I ‘spose, but, the way everyone’s been talking, and from what Gemma and everyone else’s older brothers and sisters say, it seems like you’re only really meant to ask someone to dance that you’d like to be more than friends with.” </p><p>“I see. And there’s no girl you think you might like more than a friend?”</p><p>“No,” Harry replies, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”</p><p>“What about one of your friends – Dorothy or Elizabeth or Margaret maybe – none of them wanted to dance just for fun?</p><p>“Dunno,” he admits. “I didn’t ask any of them. I suppose I could have before the dance. Just to see if they’d want to, for fun I mean. But once we were already there, I just worried that asking anyone might mean something else to them. I didn’t want to accidentally make someone think I like them like that when I don’t. Didn’t seem nice.”</p><p>His mom hums in response, a slight smile on her lips. “You’re such a kind boy, Harry. So thoughtful. I’m always so proud of you.” </p><p>Harry shifts in his seat, smiling at his mother’s praise but feeling a bit shy over it as well. </p><p>“Thanks, mom.” </p><p>“Always am and I always will be, you know?”</p><p>Harry turns to her, curious.</p><p>She slows to a stop as the traffic light ahead changes from yellow to red and turns to face Harry, looking directly into his eyes in the way she does when she wants to make sure he doesn’t just hear her but really understands. A total mom look. “Always. No matter what.” She punctuates her statement with a soft smile and a wink before she turns back to face the road. </p><p>And Harry doesn’t quite understand why his mother’s chosen this moment to assure him of that, but it fills him with a comforting warmth just the same. </p><p>After a few minutes of silently staring out the window, Harry’s moved to speak again. </p><p>“It was good, I think,” he says, as though his mother had asked about the dance all over again. “Did I tell you the cupcakes matched the streamers? That was really neat.”</p><p>“Mmm,” his mom replies. “That’s lovely, Harry. I’m glad you had a nice time.”</p><p>“Yes, me too.” He’d had a nice time. And he was glad for having gone. </p><p>And he’s already looking forward, hopefully, to the next one. Where maybe there will be someone he wants to ask for a dance. </p><p>~~~</p><p>
  <em> May 1966: Prom  </em>
</p><p>“<b>Just</b> as friends, I promise! Please, mom. Hardly any freshman get asked to go to Prom! It’s supposed to just be for juniors and seniors. Please don’t say no.”</p><p>She doesn’t say no. </p><p>Harry is over the moon. Not about going with Sarah. She’s great and all – she and Harry are both swimmers so they know each other a bit and have some friends in common – but honestly Harry hasn’t thought much about her as a date. And he doesn’t think she has either. He’s just a person she can have fun with and not be nervous around who knows a few of the people in her group already. Someone she knows she gets along with and who will match his cummerbund to her dress so their photos will turn out well, and who will go along with making those photos serious or silly, whichever she wants. Harry is sure he’ll have a nice time with Sarah, but she’s not why he’s so excited to be going. </p><p>Harry just loves to dance. He thinks. He’s never <em> really </em> danced. Not at an <em> actual </em> dance, anyway. Not one that took place anywhere outside his bedroom or his friends’ basements when their sleepovers turned giddy.  </p><p>The Eighth Grade dance he’d looked forward to for years had ended up with considerably more standing around than actual dancing, save a few precocious couples and even fewer brave souls who’d managed to approach someone of the opposite sex from the opposite side of the gym and had been lucky enough not to be rejected for at least the length of one slow song. </p><p>Harry hadn’t been one of those people. He’d been too shy. Too worried about his intentions being misunderstood. So he’d convinced himself he was content just to observe, simply take it all in and enjoy just being at a dance for the very first time. He’d stayed on the boys’ side, joking with his anxious friends and drinking punch and trying not to sway too obviously to the songs he loved best, mostly keeping himself from getting too jealous of the few couples who actually got to dance. And he mostly had enjoyed it. But he’d known even then it was just practice for the real thing. </p><p>This time will be different. This time he has a date. There’ll be no uncertainty about asking someone to dance. No risk of leading someone on – Sarah’d asked <em> him </em>after all. And she’d assured him it was only as friends. There won’t be any pressure. It can just be fun. </p><p>Harry can’t wait. </p><p>*</p><p>It turns out high school dances – or at least Prom, anyway – are <em> exactly </em>what Harry had always hoped for. Elaborate but inexpensive decorations – probably tasteful in conception but a bit tacky in execution. Students dressed in the nicest versions of their Sunday best. Teachers and parent chaperones spaced out to keep an eye on the students, making sure no one dances too close during the slow numbers or gets too wild during the faster ones. Rock n’ roll may be here to stay, the principal had said with great chagrin, but that doesn’t mean they have to let the younger generation run amok without proper supervision. </p><p>Harry is fairly sure he doesn’t stop smiling from the moment he and Sarah enter the gym. He had offered his elbow on their way in and she’d taken it politely and silently, to Harry’s great relief (he’d been a little worried it might be a lame move, exposing him as a kid trying to act grown up enough to belong there).</p><p>Although he and Sarah spend most of the dance with each other, they’re also there with a group of Sarah’s friends, so the two of them are almost never alone. Even when they’re dancing, even to slow songs, they’re usually dancing near at least one or two other pairs from their group. </p><p>And Harry likes the group. Some of them are swimmers who Harry’d already known, or at least recognized from practices and meets. Some of them are theater kids – Sarah’s other main extracurricular – and Harry hadn’t met any of them before tonight but he finds them surprisingly easy to talk to even though he knows nothing about acting or singing or anything else to do with theater production. By the end of the night he’s all but convinced himself to try out for the next available school play just so he can become better friends with them.</p><p>There’s one in particular Harry finds himself wanting to know better. </p><p>His name’s Louis. </p><p>So far, Harry knows two facts about Louis. He’s a junior (so he’s not about to graduate), and he’d decided to go stag to the dance. Harry doesn't give too much thought as to why he should feel relieved by either of those facts, but he tucks it away to examine later when he’s not so distracted. </p><p>Unlike a few other people who’ve come on their own, and despite being obviously social, Louis doesn’t seem at all bothered to be without a date. Harry can’t imagine Louis being bothered by anything, actually. There’s a lightness to him – he’s quick with a joke (and very funny, Harry thinks) and laughs easily – and Harry finds himself looking in his direction rather often throughout the night. He might not have noticed how frequently he was doing it except for the few times that Louis had been looking back.</p><p>The first time, it had startled Harry, forcing his eyes away immediately, and his heart had raced at being caught. As if he’d done something wrong.</p><p>But it kept happening. From across their friend circle, peering over cups of punch. Catching each other’s gaze in smaller group conversations as they shifted their focus simultaneously from one speaker to the next, as if they were watching a tennis match from opposite sides of the court. Each time it happened, it felt to Harry as if it lasted a bit longer, and he felt less of a need to quickly avert his eyes. And by the end of the night, he’s wondering if at least some of their eye contact has been less accidental than it seemed.</p><p>The last time their eyes meet – from over Sarah’s shoulder as she and Harry dance to the final slow song of the evening – is undeniably intentional. Harry had been scanning the room to find Louis, and when his eyes land on him, standing at the edge of the dance floor chatting idly with a friend, Louis is already looking right at him. </p><p>Harry has to fight not to gasp. He doesn’t want to give himself away to Sarah, but it’s difficult to withhold his surprise at the way Louis is staring at him. Because that’s what he’s doing. Staring. He’s not looking at Harry like he’d just ended up in his line of sight. </p><p>Whereas their shared glances throughout the night have been casually curious – like they’ve simply been trying to get a sense of each other, just two strangers with enough friends in common that it would be odd not to be a little interested – this one feels searching. Purposeful.</p><p>It almost seems to Harry like Louis is trying to communicate something, rather than simply observing him. </p><p>And while a hint of a smile had flickered across Louis’ lips a few times that night as they’d caught each others’ gazes, his expression had felt mostly polite. This time, though, with both sides of his lips unmistakably curled into a warm smile, it seems like more. There’s still a softness in his expression, but it feels imploring somehow. </p><p>Harry has no idea how much longer the song lasts, but he and Louis don’t look away from each other until it ends. </p><p>When the dance is over and their group empties out into the parking lot along with everyone else, disbursing with handshakes and waves and promises to call tomorrow, Harry hangs back near the door, waiting for Sarah and her two girlfriends to finish up in the powder room. Louis appears before him suddenly, taking him by surprise. Again. </p><p>“Very nice to meet you, Harry,” Louis says through a broad smile, reaching out to shake his hand. Harry takes it and a pulse of energy spikes through him, causing him to shiver despite the warm air. Louis huffs a light laugh but keeps hold of Harry’s hand in his own as he reaches up with his other to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. </p><p>“Y-yeah,” Harry mutters as Louis lets go of his shoulder and hand at the same time, leaving Harry a bit bereft. “You too, Louis.”</p><p>“See you around school, then,” Louis adds with a barely visible wink before he turns to leave. </p><p>“Hope so,” Harry calls out before he can stop himself, brain too fuzzy from the excitement of the night to care that he should probably be embarrassed by that response. It’s the truth, after all. </p><p>Louis twirls on his heel to face Harry as he continues to walk away. “You will.”</p><p>Harry can’t wait.</p><p>
  <em> ~~~ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> January 1967: Winter Formal  </em>
</p><p><b>“Keep</b> it up, Ed, and just see what happens,” Louis says, re-adjusting his suspenders after Ed had been unable, yet again, to resist snapping one of the straps. </p><p>Ed cackles in his light-hearted but boisterous way and throws his hands up as though he’s willing to finally let Louis alone for a while. </p><p>Harry would laugh along with him – he’s pretty sure from Louis’ smirk that he’s more amused than irritated by Ed’s antics – but he’s too nervous. He’s always nervous around Louis.</p><p>It’s strange, Harry thinks, to grow more nervous around someone the more you spend time with them. In Harry’s experience, getting to know someone has always made him <em> less </em>shy. But something about Louis is different. Harry doesn’t understand it, just like he doesn’t understand why the fact that he’s still always so nervous around Louis doesn’t lessen his desire to be near him. </p><p>Quite the opposite, really. </p><p>Harry had ended up auditioning for the fall play at the start of the school year. He’d only gotten into the ensemble, but that was perfect as far as he’d been concerned. He didn’t have to memorize a bunch of lines or feel responsible for the play turning out well – he couldn’t imagine being in a lead role like Louis – but he still got to be a part of it, still got to learn more about theater and make friends with the theater kids. Still had an excuse to be around Louis way more than he would have otherwise, especially since Harry jumped at any excuse to help out with the play in a way that kept him on or near the stage even when the ensemble wasn’t needed for rehearsals. He told himself and anyone else who would listen that he just wanted to learn all about what goes into putting on a play, just wanted to help. And that was all true, he supposed. But if he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t have been so eager to learn more or help out so much if it weren’t for the bonus of getting to watch Louis rehearse...watch Louis joke around between scenes...just...watch Louis.</p><p>And the occasional moments where Louis had looked up from what he was doing to catch Harry watching – those moments that Harry both feared and longed for – made Harry feel like he and Louis were getting to know each other, even though the moments never lasted more than a few seconds. Even though they never led to anything else. </p><p>For all the time they’ve spent around each other this year, they don’t actually <em> talk </em>much, Louis and Harry. Polite greetings and exchanged phrases in larger group conversations, sure, but not much else. Louis is really friendly, but he’s also really charming and loud and outgoing. So it’s not just Harry who’s drawn to him. Everyone always wants to be around Louis. And Louis seems to love the attention. So it’s hard to steal any time with just him to actually talk. </p><p>Not that Harry is confident he’d know at all what to say – or how to act – even if he could.</p><p>Something about Louis, who seems to put everyone else in the world at ease, makes Harry freeze up. </p><p>But he hopes tonight, here with all his new theater friends, the stress of the play behind them and their school’s gymnasium transformed into a winter wonderland for the sole purpose of their collective merriment, that things can start to be different. </p><p>*</p><p>“You having fun?”</p><p>Harry recognizes the voice before he turns to see Louis standing next to him. As his traitorous body starts to stiffen at the proximity to Louis, he feels a soft pressure on his shoulder and realizes it’s Louis’ hand. And rather than cause his muscles to freeze completely as he’d expect, the touch somehow has the opposite effect. And it’s not just his back muscles that relax, but his entire self. Even his brain seems to calm itself enough that he can muster a response.</p><p>“Yeah, tons,” he says, immensely grateful to his voice for remaining steady.</p><p>“Mmm, seems like it,” Louis replies, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Get all dressed up and come to dances just to watch other people enjoy themselves, then? That’s what does it for you?”</p><p>Harry chuckles nervously and shrugs. Louis removes his hand from his shoulder and Harry immediately regrets his movement. If he’d have known it would make Louis stop touching him, he’d have stayed as still as a statue until they kicked him out at the end of the night. </p><p>“Just...not much of a dancer, I guess,” Harry manages, keeping his eyes locked on the dance floor rather than risk looking at Louis, lest he read the obvious lie on his face.</p><p>“Now, I know that’s not true, Harry,” Louis replies. “What about prom last year?”</p><p>“Oh, well,” Harry says, heartbeat quickening at the memories of their shared glances from that dance, wondering if Louis remembers them at all, “that was different. I had a date for that. She wanted to dance, you know.”</p><p>“Sure, sure,” Louis replies, and Harry might not know Louis well – this might be the longest conversation they’ve ever had – but he can tell Louis’ about to call his bluff. </p><p>He’s right. </p><p>“Although,” Louis says, dragging the word out long enough that Harry finally turns toward him and his smirk, “I don’t recall you coming with a date to our cast party last weekend, and I <em> definitely </em>saw you dancing at that. With a huge smile plastered across your face the entire time, if I’m remembering it right. Looked downright ecstatic.”</p><p>Harry’s so shocked at what Louis’s just said – at the idea that <em> Louis </em> had noticed him, had been <em> watching </em>him – it’s all he can do to keep his jaw from dropping fully to the floor. </p><p>As if he can sense Harry has lost the ability to manipulate sounds into words, Louis continues, “So I’m not sure I believe the excuse of you not being a dancer, young Harold.” He shoots Harry a wink before turning toward the gym, eyes roving over the bouncing couples filling the dance floor. “What is it, then? Just no one here you want to dance with?”</p><p>Louis keeps his eyes on the dance floor, so Harry’s able to form words again. </p><p>“Umm…”</p><p>Well, almost.</p><p>“No girl who strikes your fancy?” Louis asks, turning back to catch Harry staring at him. </p><p>“No,” Harry says immediately, surprising himself at his ability to speak with Louis’ eye contact as steady as it is. “No girl.”</p><p>Louis’ lips curve into a sly grin and Harry’s heart is about two beats from jumping up his throat and hurling itself onto the hardwood floor. </p><p>“Can I show you something, then?” Louis whispers conspiratorially. </p><p>“Wh--what is it?” Harry stutters, pulling a laugh from Louis. That bright, lovely rasp of his that floats through the air, weightless. The one that always seems to tickle Harry’s chest or his throat or his–</p><p>“It’s a surprise,” Louis continues. “I think you’ll like it.”</p><p>The song changes to something slow and familiar right as Harry nods. </p><p>“Great,” Louis says. “Come with me.” He places his hand on the small of Harry’s back and presses lightly, encouraging Harry to turn away from the dance floor and head toward the exit. He keeps his hand hovering there, close enough to press Harry’s suit jacket into him, but not actually making direct contact. </p><p>Harry wishes he would. He even tries slowing his pace a bit, hoping Louis will catch up with him and press his hand back into him to move him along. But Louis seems to react to Harry’s movements almost before he makes them, and his hand stays maddeningly where it is as they make their way to the door. </p><p>When they step out of the gym, Louis moves his hand up to grip the back of Harry’s upper arm, angling him so he knows which way to walk down the empty hallway. After a few steps, he lets go, and Harry can’t be sure that Louis hears him sigh, but he sees a hint of a smile when he glances over to take a peak at Louis’ profile. </p><p>At the end of the hall, they take a left, and Louis directs them to a classroom halfway down the next hallway, just far enough down that it’s gotten harder to see with all the lights off. </p><p>“Here we are,” Louis announces, opening a door and flicking the lights on, bathing the room in aggressively white fluorescent light. </p><p>Harry blinks a few times as his eyes adjust and he looks around the room, curious for any signs of what Louis’ surprise might be. He comes up short though. It’s an utterly ordinary classroom. Harry can’t even tell which teacher’s room it is, or even what subject it’s used for. </p><p>He has absolutely no idea why Louis has brought them here in the middle of a dance. </p><p>“Louis, what are we do–”</p><p>And then he hears it. His mouth snaps shut and he turns to stare at the air vent in the corner, where slightly tinny but still understandable lyrics are filtering in through the slats. </p><p>
  <em> “Cherish is the word I use to describe...all the feeling that I have hiding here for you inside…” </em>
</p><p>“This is what started playing just before we left!” Harry gasps, feeling silly at his own surprise and excitement.</p><p>Louis giggles softly. “It is. Well done.”</p><p>“This is the music from the gym! How can we hear it so clearly in here?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Louis shrugs. “I used to have algebra in this classroom. And we could always hear the squeaks of sneakers from the P.E. class happening at the same time. Used to drive me batty when I was trying to focus on math. But I figured it could come in handy at the right time.”</p><p>Harry turns to look at Louis and smiles. “It’s so bizarre,” he says. “Pretty cool, though.”</p><p>“I thought it might be nice to have our own private dance floor for a bit.”</p><p>Harry gasps and this time he definitely fails to keep his jaw from dropping. “Wh– what do you mean?” he asks, and immediately regrets it when Louis’ expression falls. He looks so nervous and Harry’s heart clenches. </p><p>“I– sorry, I– I shouldn’t have assumed,” Louis mutters, barely able to look at Harry. “Please don’t be upset,” he rushes out. “I just thought– We can go back if you want. Let’s just go back. Just...can we forget I said anything?”</p><p>“No, wait, Louis.” Harry doesn’t know what to say to fix this. He just knows he doesn’t ever want Louis to look this panicked again. Never wants him to sound this distraught again. </p><p>And he knows he doesn’t want them to go back. Not yet.</p><p>"Just...wait. Stay."</p><p>Louis looks up to meet Harry’s eyes and he’s still clearly anxious, but his breaths are slowing and his expression is calmer. </p><p>Harry smiles encouragingly at him and Louis’ eyebrows raise in response, relief slowly filling his face as Harry maintains his smile, broadening it ‘til he’s sure his dimple is showing.</p><p>Louis reaches his hand toward Harry and Harry realizes his smile hadn’t actually been as big as it could be.</p><p>“Do you want to dance with me, Harry?”</p><p>“Love to,” Harry answers, taking Louis’ hand and allowing himself to be pulled toward him.</p><p>Louis places Harry’s hand on the back of his own neck, and Harry lifts his other up to join it as Louis reaches his arms around Harry’s waist, settling his hands on the dip of Harry’s back and pulling Harry gently into him. </p><p>For the first time all year, Harry’s not at all nervous to be around Louis Tomlinson.</p><p>“Cherish” fades out after only twenty seconds or so and Harry exhales a heavy sigh as he begins to pull back from Louis, expecting their dance to end. But Louis holds him in place as the next song starts – one slow enough to let them stay exactly as they are if they want to – and he looks shyly but hopefully at Harry. </p><p>“One more?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. </p><p>Harry nods immediately, settling back into Louis’ embrace. He rests his head on Louis’ shoulder and wraps his arms more tightly around Louis’ neck, grasping his own elbows to hold them securely in place. </p><p>As they sway together in the too-bright room, Louis gripping him around his waist with his head tilted softly against Harry’s, Harry finally thinks he understands what he’s been longing to experience all these years he’s dreamt of going to dances. He lets his eyes close and loses himself in the feeling, warmth wrapping around them as Louis hums softly along with Diana Ross and her Supremes as they pass along words of motherly wisdom about not hurrying love. </p><p>The Rolling Stones finally burst their bubble with their insistent guitars and inability to get satisfaction. </p><p>“Guess we should get back,” Louis says as they tentatively pull away from each other.</p><p>“Guess so,” Harry agrees with a pout, removing his hands from around Louis’ neck and placing them somewhat awkwardly on the tops of his shoulders, not quite ready to let him go altogether.</p><p>Louis smiles softly and begins unwinding his arms from around Harry’s waist. The loss of pressure and warmth sets Harry’s heart into panic mode and he feels a surge of bravery he hardly recognizes. </p><p>“Thanks for the dance, Lou,” he says and then leans forward to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. </p><p>Not that he has a basis for comparison, but Harry thinks he probably lets his lips linger slightly longer than he’s meant to. But Louis’ skin is soft and warm and Harry can’t bring himself to care too much in the moment. </p><p>When he finally tears himself away, he drops his arms to his sides, his hands half-curled into nervous fists, and he braces himself for Louis’ reaction. </p><p>What he finds is Louis’ face split into the widest smile Harry’s ever seen, his eyes sparkling in a way Harry’d previously assumed must be purely in his imagination.</p><p>“The pleasure was mine, Harry,” Louis says, grabbing one of Harry’s hands and lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles, never tearing his eyes away from Harry’s.</p><p>Harry’s chest floods with warmth as his smile fills his face and when Louis lowers Harry’s hand from his lips, he doesn’t let it go. He holds it as they leave the room, flipping the light switch with his free hand. He holds it as they walk back down the dark hallway, and leans around the corner to check whether anyone is in the main hallway leading back to the gym so he knows he can keep holding it all the way down that hallway as well. </p><p>They only let go of each other when they reach the restrooms just across from the gym’s entrance. Louis suggests Harry go on ahead back into the dance while Louis uses the restroom so they don’t walk back in at the same time and risk drawing attention to having disappeared together. </p><p>As much as Harry hates that he’s right, and hates even more that he’d managed to forget in the span of a few songs that they’d need to pretend they’d been doing anything but what they had been, he agrees and tells Louis he’ll see him inside. With a wink, Louis turns and pushes in the door to the Boys’ room, and Harry turns to walk back into the gym, desperately holding on to the feeling of Louis’ fingers laced with his, Louis’ lips on his skin, Louis’ arms wrapped around his waist. </p><p>Harry immediately finds one of his friends at the punch bowl and it’s almost like he’d never left at all. </p><p>He and Louis barely talk the rest of the dance, a few words here and there when they’re surrounded by their friends but mostly they just exchange silent glances and knowing smiles that fill Harry’s stomach with butterflies and his veins with fizzy soda and his brain with insistent chants of “more more more” and “now now now.”</p><p>And Harry does want more Louis, and now. But he’s also pretty sure Louis feels the same way. So he remembers what Miss Ross sang to them just a little while ago, and makes peace with the fact that they’ll just have to wait. </p><p>He can do that.</p><p>He can wait for Louis.</p><p>~~~</p><p>
  <em> October 1967: Homecoming Dance  </em>
</p><p><b>“On</b> your feet, Harold, come on.”</p><p>Harry pouts but reluctantly lets Louis haul him up from the couch with both arms. “Don’t want to go without you, though.”</p><p>“I know, baby. But we’ve been over this. You don’t want to miss the dance. And I can’t come with you.”</p><p>“It’s <em> Homecoming, </em>Louis. The whole point of it is for alumni to come back.”</p><p>Louis sighs. It’s the same argument Harry’s been trying for the past three weeks and Louis’ patience might finally be wearing thin.</p><p>Still, he brings a curved finger to Harry’s chin, gently nudging his face up from where it’s staring resolutely at the floor. Louis’ eyes are filled with so much gentle understanding, Harry might cry. </p><p>“Harry,” Louis exhales softly. “Homecoming <em> weekend, </em> yes. The dance is different. I wish I could come with you, you know I do. But you also know I can’t.” He shifts his hand slightly to run his thumb softly across Harry’s cheek bone.</p><p>“James Tully is coming, and he graduated <em> two </em>years ago.” </p><p>Louis raises an eyebrow and Harry knows he’s about to get called on his crap. “He’s just coming on his own then? Just an alum showing up stag to a high school dance, huh?”</p><p>“He’s coming with Carla,” Harry huffs, pulling his eyes away from Louis’.</p><p>“Mmm, I see. Carla, his girlfriend of three years who's still a senior? That Carla?”</p><p>Harry knows he’s being a baby. He knows as well as Louis why it’s different for them. But he can’t help it. It’s not fair.</p><p>“It’s not fair, Lou.”</p><p>“It isn’t, love, no. It’s not. But it is what it is.”</p><p>Harry brings his eyes back to Louis’ and exhales a shaky breath as he nods. </p><p>Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s soft curls, adjusting the piece that’s always falling out of place. “You just have fun with your friends, love. And then you come back here to me. I’ll be here. And tomorrow night we can go to the game together with all our friends, and sit pressed close together on those crowded bleachers and nudge shoulders and smile at each other every time there’s an exciting play, and we can hold hands under that obnoxious school spirited blanket you have during the boring bits, and we’ll know we’re there together even surrounded by all those people, and no one will be the wiser. Ok?” Louis leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips and Harry savors it like he does every single kiss they share. Like it’s precious and rare and will be over too soon.</p><p>It always is.</p><p>“Ok,” Harry agrees as their lips part. </p><p>Even though it’s not.</p><p>*</p><p>The dance is fine. It’s even fun. He’s with his best friends. They drink punch (spiked with whiskey from Mitch’s flask) and dance and laugh and do their best to avoid the chaperones and make guesses about which dancing couples will end up married and laugh some more and cheer when the King and Queen are announced and Harry’s heart barely twinges when they share a slow dance in their crowns. </p><p>He has a good time, he does. </p><p>But without Louis there, it feels nothing like home. </p><p>What does feel like home is Louis welcoming him back after the dance ends, immediately and silently pulling him into his arms, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder, and gently swaying them side to side as he hums into Harry’s ear, eventually switching to actually sing the words, softly serenading Harry as he holds on tightly. </p><p>
  <em> “When I feel my strength, yeah, it's almost gone, I remember mama said, ‘you can't hurry love…’” </em>
</p><p>And alright, Harry thinks, squeezing Louis impossibly closer to him as he continues to sing sweetly into his ear, he can wait a little longer. </p><p>~~~</p><p>
  <em> June 1969: Summer Solstice Celebration </em>
</p><p><b>“Dancing,</b> too, right? You’re sure?”</p><p>“Dancing, too, H. I’m sure.”</p><p>“Real dancing? Paired up? Like an actual couple? Not just in some giant circle of hippies chanting mantras at the sky while flailing our arms around?”</p><p>Louis huffs an amused laugh at that. “Are you suggesting <em> your </em>dancing is something so different from flailing your arms around with your head tossed back?”</p><p>Harry sulks, sinking in the passenger seat and pushing his bottom lip out in a pout. “Come on, Lou, you know what I mean. I just don’t want to get my hopes up. You promise we’ll be able to dance at this thing. Together. On the actual dance floor. No hiding out?”</p><p>Smiling, but keeping his eyes ahead, watching the road, Louis answers with an amused but gentle tone, “Like you, Harold, I have never myself attended a Summer Solstice celebration, on a commune or otherwise–”</p><p>Harry pokes him in the ribs and Louis yelps a laugh before continuing, “–but yes, love, according to Steve, we will be able to dance any way you want. I can’t imagine there will be an actual dance floor as opposed to a well trod dirt patch, but yes. Out in the open. Just like everyone else.”</p><p>Harry can’t quite believe it. He hasn’t met Steve yet – he’s a relatively new friend of Louis’ – but it’s not that he’s having trouble believing what he’s told Louis about this celebration because he can’t trust him. Harry’s having trouble believing it because it seems too good to be true. </p><p>He’s heard all about hippies and free love and all that. It’s not that he’s been living under a rock, although sometimes the suburbs don’t feel far off. He just can’t square every experience he’s ever had – with his perfectly nice family in his perfectly nice house in their perfectly nice town – with what he’s being told to expect this weekend. </p><p>But Louis’s insisted. He seems sure. And Harry trusts Louis, he does. He just doesn’t really trust anyone else. Not when it comes to the two of them being open about who they are. </p><p>He tries to relax for the rest of the drive, laying his head on the window, hoping the vibrations will lull him to a calmer state. When that doesn’t work immediately, he decides to try the only more soothing option he can think of: Louis’ voice. </p><p>“Tell me again about how we got invited to this?”</p><p>Louis laughs, clearly aware that Harry just needs to be distracted – he’s told Harry all this at least five times – but humors him anyway, patiently going over the sequence of events that led to them being in this beat up convertible on this dusty road in the middle of June. </p><p>He starts all the way back with how he met Steve, a musician who’d been busking on a corner near Louis’ job, and who’d offered to take Louis out for a drink to thank him for tossing a quarter into his guitar case (despite Louis’ insistence that doing so would void his contribution in the first place). He tells Harry about how they’d shut down the bar that night, Steve telling Louis all about his time in San Francisco the summer of ‘67, the friends he’d made who’d instantly felt like family, and how they’d all decided one night after summer had turned to fall that they felt it was their calling to spread the messages of free love and true community outside of California, and so had piled into a van and driven east until they’d found a kindred spirit with a plot of land to offer and had started their own commune. </p><p>They’ve hosted guests all along – mostly wandering folks who happen upon them and stay a night or two before continuing on – and held all manner of spontaneous happenings, but this weekend is their first fully planned event. And so every member of the commune – Steve included – had invited friends to join them. </p><p>Harry had been ecstatic when Louis had first told him. Steve might not have met Harry, but he knows all about him – knows all about Louis and Harry – and Harry had been over the moon at the idea of getting to go somewhere <em> with </em>Louis. Especially to a party. </p><p>Especially since he had skipped his own prom last month. </p><p>He’d told himself he didn’t need to go, didn’t need the rite of passage since he’d gone his freshman year, and plenty of dances since then, too. Really, he just couldn’t stomach going to yet another dance and pretending to have just as much fun going stag – or taking a girl who’s a friend – as he knew he’d have if he could bring the date he really wanted. And he couldn’t bring the date he wanted. </p><p>So when Louis had described this celebration, and specifically mentioned dancing, Harry’s heart had leapt at the thought. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more, really, than a chance to dance with his love, to celebrate what they had – which they knew was special even if no one else in the world even knew it existed – where other people could see. And, if Louis’ friend Steve is to be believed, where other people would accept and even embrace it. </p><p>For the rest of the drive, Harry tries to focus on the elation he’d felt when Louis had first told him, to force out his doubts about the truth of what’s been promised. Because if what Steve had told Louis and Louis has told Harry ends up being even partly true, they can’t get there soon enough.</p><p>*</p><p>By the time they pull up to the property, marked by a large house, a few other buildings of various size and in various states of disrepair set back a few hundred yards, and what looks like miles and miles of tree- and wildflower-dappled fields, Harry is practically vibrating out of his skin. </p><p>Louis grabs his hand as they approach the house, and Harry grips back like he expects the house to be haunted. </p><p>As they climb the few steps to the wrap around porch, Harry can see the front door is wide open, the frame decorated with the world’s longest daisy chain, and he exhales a breath that seems too big to have fit in his lungs. His entire body relaxes and Louis nudges his shoulder, prompting Harry to turn toward him. Louis’ blue eyes shine – <em>so stunning</em> –  and he smiles at Harry. </p><p>“Not so scary, huh?”</p><p>Harry shakes his head and smiles sheepishly. “Looks nice.”</p><p>Louis nods and squeezes Harry’s hand before letting it go and moving his hand to Harry’s lower back, guiding him gently across the threshold. </p><p>A woman in a long, flowing dress with flowers woven through her long, wavy hair greets them in the entryway. She’s holding a bowl nearly overflowing with the most ripe looking strawberries Harry’s ever seen and looks absolutely serene as she welcomes them. “I’m Meadow. If you follow me through the back door, you’ll find everyone out there. Of course you’re welcome to explore the house if you’d like. Make yourselves at home. What’s ours is yours.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Harry replies, feeling inexplicably at ease in this place that’s unlike any he’s ever been. </p><p>“What do you say?” Louis asks once Meadow’s disappeared outside. “Shall we snoop around a bit?”</p><p>Harry laughs but shakes his head. “No, let’s go on outside after her. I want to see what they’ve set up.”</p><p>They make their way through the house and out the back door, across the backside of the porch and down the steps that lead into more of the same gorgeous open fields. From this side of the house, they can make out various gardens scattered around and what appear to be a few different play areas for children. There are picnic tables and folding chairs, blankets and pillows laid out invitingly on the ground in various places, some with overhead coverings and some completely bathed in sunlight. There are long tables, some filled with food and drinks, some filled with art supplies, and one...one covered with a heaping pile of assorted flowers and greenery and ribbons and spools of delicate wire. </p><p>Harry might not have recognized it for exactly what it is if there weren’t two people – a man and a woman – standing at the table, carefully selecting items from it and discussing their plans.</p><p>“Louis,” Harry gasps, “look!”</p><p>“I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Louis laughs, his voice taking on the soft rasp Harry finds at once grounding and titillating. “Shall we start there?”</p><p>“You think– I mean, is it...you don’t think it’s just for the women?”</p><p>“I think from the moment we stepped through that door until the moment we get back home, you don’t have to wonder whether any bit of this is meant for you or us, love.”</p><p>Harry would cry if he weren’t too excited to get his hands on those flowers. Instead, he turns to Louis and flashes a smile worthy of him, of this place, of their love, grabs his hand, and walks them with great purpose to make them flower crowns and new friends. </p><p>*</p><p>Hours later – his arms swaying as wildly as his hips, his sweat-drenched hair half matted to his forehead and half flying around as he tosses his head to the beat of whatever song is being mostly drowned out by his pulse reverberating through his eardrums, his flower crown holding admirably onto the strands he’d carefully selected (with Louis’ help) to secure it to, his lips tingling and swollen from kissing Louis on and off all evening (on the dance floor, rolling around in the grass, in the bathroom, back on the dance floor), his heart in danger of bursting from exhaustion or joy or both – Harry can’t believe he’d ever doubted in the magic of this place they’ve found themselves tonight. He can’t believe he’d ever thought any of the dances he’d been to before – that he’d spent so much of his childhood looking forward to – were what he wanted. He can’t imagine ever going back to any place where he feels even a fraction less free than he does right now. Here, with his Louis. In this place they’ve found. Where every person has treated them with absolute kindness and understanding. </p><p>And deep down, he knows this weekend will end, and he and Louis will go back to their lives. Where they have to hide the most important pieces of themselves from everyone else but each other. </p><p>But none of that can bother him now. Not while he’s here, in this place that feels so good.   </p><p>A place they’ve been assured by everyone they’ve met tonight they can keep coming back to whenever they want. </p><p>Harry catches Louis’ eyes, sees him closing the distance between them that Harry’d created with his flailing arms, and realizes he must have stopped moving. </p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re actually winding down, young Harold?” Louis asks, mirth shining in his eyes, his face glowing with a sheen of sweat and the rosy glow that comes from hours of laughing and kissing and dancing and drinking. </p><p>“Not a chance,” Harry answers, surging forward to capture Louis’ lips with his own. When he’s had his fill (can never truly have his fill, but unfortunately he still apparently needs to breathe occasionally), he kisses a trail along Louis’ jaw on his way to whisper in his ear, “let’s keep on dancing.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments and <a href="https://uhoh-but-yeah-alright.tumblr.com/post/630878494443945984">reblogs</a> are all greatly appreciated if so. &lt;3 </p><p>Thanks so much to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_train">Rebecca</a> for moderating this fest, and for being lovely and understanding as usual! &lt;333</p></blockquote></div></div>
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